The Road to Washington
by stayathomemum
Summary: What if Angela had not fallen asleep when she shared a bed with Tony during the train ride to Washington?


**The Road to Washington**

_**A/N: Dear reader, this remains one of my favourite episodes from Season 7, especially the train compartment scene. Tony can't sleep and has to share a bed with Angela because old Chippy is entertaining a female guest (ew). Anyway, let's revisit that scene, shall we? In this scenario, Angela remains awake. **_

"You know, that, uh, perfume you're wearing is … wow!" Tony's tired. He's so dead tired but he can't ignore the scent of something akin to warm honey invading his nostrils.

"I'm not wearing perfume." Her voice is soft and dreamy.

"Oh?" Oh my god, what? Tony's eyes pop open as he tries to ignore the implication of her words.

"Goodnight," she replies sleepily.

"Yeah, yeah, goodnight Angela." There's no way in hell he's getting any sleep now. If that's not perfume, then it's coming from _her_. Her female body, her warmed skin, scented like the most delectable …No! He stops his train of thought and sits up, aroused and awake.

"Oh, who are we kidding Angela? I mean it's one thing to be mature, and adult, but it's another thing to be in the same bed, a little bed I might add. Our hearts pounding, our minds racing; I'm going crazy and I know you are too. Angela? Angela?" He looks over at her when she doesn't respond. She's lying back on her pillow, eyes closed. Seriously? Who can fall asleep that fast? Tony nudges her foot with his. She always did have warm toes. "Psst, Angela, you asleep?" he asks, doubting.

She opens her eyes and exhales sharply. "I was trying," she begins. She opens her mouth to say something but doesn't quite know how to respond. Telling him that his presence in the shared tiny bed is making her crazy too might not be the wisest decision. Besides, she doesn't want him to leave, and she is flattered. She considers closing her eyes again, leaving his tirade unacknowledged but the question pops out of her mouth unbidden, "What do you suggest?"

"What?"

"I mean," she stammers, "I mean … what I'm trying to say is that you need your sleep."

"No kiddin'. I'm exhausted and tomorrow's a big day."

"Yes, you need to be rested for your speech. So can you, er, fall asleep here?"

"Ha!" He's so aware of her proximity, her femininity and that intoxicating fragrance that is uniquely her. "Is that your natural scent?" he blurts out. The lack of sleep has made him freer with his words.

Angela gasps. "Whaat?"

She sits up to face him and her eyes lock on his. She can't tear them away because he's looking at her in a way he never has before. She sees the desire and hunger on his open, honest face. His deep exhaustion prevents him from putting up the usual barriers. This is when one of them is supposed to break the spell. One heartbeat, two, three …

"Oh," she whispers.

Silence.

He can't make sense of his thoughts because she inhabits them. His senses are full of her and he's lost in her deep-set dark eyes. "You're beautiful," he says. "So beautiful."

"So are you. Oh Tony." She wants to touch him. If there are reasons why she shouldn't, she can't think of what they are. Not now. Not when she's staring at his sensual mouth. She remembers the feel of that mouth on hers and right now, all she can think of is how badly she wants to experience it again. She brings her fingertips to his lips and caresses their plump softness. "Tony …"

That's the only encouragement he needs. He moves his face close and presses his lips to hers. Her mouth opens beneath his and she tilts her neck back to accommodate him. He wraps his arms around her and she clings to him. They lie down together on the narrow bed, lips still locked, and breaths mingling. Her fingers clutch his pajama top and she moves them to stroke the nape of his neck. His skin is warm and smooth and she wonders what the rest of him feels like. He wonders the same thing about her because he's pretty sure that no other woman has such velvety peaches and cream skin.

He strokes her neck and moves his mouth to the hollow of her throat. Her pulse flutters against his bottom lip. He nips her jaw and makes his way behind her ear. The scent of her shampoo and skin undo him and he can't think of anything except how much he wants to be inside of her. Fatigue makes his movements lethargic and slow but it's heavenly to her because he's taking his time and his caresses have a dreamy quality to them that she's never experienced before. Men are usually in such a hurry but Tony's leisurely exploration of her silk pajama-clad thighs makes her feel warm all over. All over.

Any conversation they're meant to have is burnt away by the passion of their kisses. In some deep recess of her brain, Angela's wondering how their relationship is going to change. A nascent thought begins to take hold but Tony's hand is on her breast and she can barely breathe, let alone think. For an infinitesimal moment, she tries to cling to the embryonic thought but it's gone with the pop of her pajama button. She's gone.

"I want to touch you," he says. Stunned that he's still capable of speech, Tony seeks Angela's consent before popping her second button. He doesn't want any regrets between them, though right now, they're so far gone that he wonders if there'd be any turning back. He can't think anymore, he can only want. Want her.

"Touch me," she breathes into his ear. "Please touch me." Angela arches her body toward him. He unfastens her buttons and she reciprocates in kind. The silk whispers down her milky shoulders. She fans her fingers over his chest and pushes his pajama top off.

Another barrier removed. Her hands aren't shy; desire and curiosity lead her fingers to caress the solid pectoral muscles of his chest. She closes her eyes and squeezes the strength of his biceps and shoulders, then down his chest to his stomach. He's stopped breathing, holding his breath in anticipation of her next move because her fingers are trailing low now, and teasing the dark tuft of hair above his waistband.

"Angela," he whimpers. He inhales, lungs begging for air. His mouth begs for hers and he pulls her toward him once again. She is his oxygen, his everything. He'd die without her now.

She is life. His mouth seeks her breasts and he feeds on her, unable to remember the usual rules of foreplay. Is he supposed to tease her nipples? He can't remember because the hard peaks of her breasts against his tongue send him careening into a reality where only she exists, and he's never been with her in this way. He won't disrespect her by remembering other women. Right now he's fixated on her small firm breasts and the gentle slope of her waist. He places hungry, urgent kisses down her body to the waistband of her pajama bottoms. The final barrier.

They're breathing heavily, hearts pounding in unison.

"Are you sure?" he whispers, though in his drunken passion, it sounds more like, "rrrrrr yasuuur"

"Yes."

No more words are needed between them.

He tugs gently at the silk bottoms, inching them down over her hips, thighs, then knees and ankles. They join the silky heap on the floor. Time stops for a moment and Tony wonders if this is what an out of body experience feels like. She is bare before him. He is overcome by a feeling of otherworldliness—can this be Angela? His Angela? The incongruity of it slams into him. "Oh my god," he utters. "It's you … and me?"

Angela sees the euphoria and heavy passion in his eyes. She sits up and kisses him again and again until he can return to his senses. "You okay?" she whispers between kisses.

"Can't believe we're here," he croaks.

"I know," she agrees. "But this feels so right, doesn't it?"

He nods and throws off his pajama bottoms. "Lie down," he tells her. He wants to touch her everywhere.

She's suddenly shy, and the way he's staring at her body makes her self-conscious. She reminds herself to focus on him, on his eyes which reflect her beauty back to her and her confidence grows with each kiss and stroke he bestows upon her. He's reverent and boyish in his exploration of her, as if he's never done this before. The feather-light touches make her giggle.

Her mirth is contagious and he laughs with her. He's thankful for it because it relaxes his nerves. He hasn't been nervous about sex since his wedding night but this is Angela. Angela, who he's loved for years. "I love you," his words echo his thoughts.

"I love you too."

He's bolder now, the fatigue pushed back by his intense desire. He strokes her thighs and she parts them for him. Erotic moans escape the back of her throat when he finally touches her there.

His touch is fire and heaviness and hunger and her body instinctively arches against his hand. "Harder," she gasps. "There … yes, right there. Oooooh, Tony, faster, _there_," she screams into her pillow to muffle the sound of her lust. He's hitting all the right spots and she can feel herself beginning to come beneath his hand, the waves of pleasure coursing through her. She doesn't want him to miss it and pushes his hand away. "Now," is all she says.

He understands, pulls himself up and slides into her. They become one. They are one. When he's inside of her, he feels that his heart might burst with love. They lock eyes again, her body rising to meet his every push. Deeper. Harder. When his release comes, he feels the contractions of her pleasure surrounding him, enveloping him, and he rides the hot breakers of her orgasm.

The exhaustion overtakes him at last. His body is wrapped around hers and she secures the blankets over their damp bodies. She wants to say something to him but his features are softened by sleep and she doesn't dare wake him. Not when he has such an important speech in the morning. She's proud of him and knows she will always remain at his side. Her last thought before drifting to sleep has something to do with her mother but she can't remember what. And she joins him in slumber.

* * *

><p>Mona enters the train car several hours later and takes it all in—the discarded pajamas and the entwined lovers, their bodies like a pretzel. "Why didn't you put a hanger on the door?" she asks.<p>

"Oh god," he moans.

"Yeah, I'll bet you said that a lot last night," Mona smirks. This is followed by Samantha's shocked, "Whoooa!"

"Get out, the both of yous … now!" Tony yells at them. He's scrambling with the blanket, making sure that no body parts are peeking out.

Samantha grabs Mona's arm and leads her away from the lovers. "I thought they were gonna say that it's not what it looks like," Sam admits.

"I think even they realized that we aren't that stupid," Mona replies. Her eyes sparkle with happiness and she grins at the teenaged girl beside her.

"I can't believe it!" Sam squeals. "I wonder what finally happened to change things between them."

"The romance of the train got them together, Kid. That and seven years of intense gazes, sublimated desire and heavy breathing."

* * *

><p>"I bet they're gossiping about us," Angela says, unconcerned.<p>

"For sure. Does it matter?"

"No. I'm glad they found out—saves us from having to make an announcement later."

"Oh yeah, and what kind of announcement would that have been?" he asks her. Tony flings the bed covers to the floor and admires Angela's body with undisguised joy.

"Just that we're together … and in love."

"Yeah, in love." He kisses her and apologizes about morning breath. She giggles and pulls him down to her.

"Mr. Micelli, before you go to Washington, I'd like to wish you good luck, or rather something that rhymes with luck," she says, eyes full of mischief.

"Angela Bower, you shock me." They both burst into giggles.


End file.
